Myra’s hands shook as she parked her car under a streetlight.
Excitement? Anxiety? she thought. Maybe all that coffee during the eight-hour drive?
She rushed along the sidewalk, cheered by the crickets, to the address she had learned only yesterday.
All this time, he was only four hundred miles away. He will be so glad to see me.
Myra and Bill had been sweethearts in high school. Even the yearbook proclaimed it. “Made for each other,” it read on page seventy-two, just below their picture, now worn and smudged.
His garage door was open. Aromas of oil and Windex. She stood there savoring the image of his Mustang, the cherry red muted under the garage light, mostly replaced by dullness and rust. She crept around the car, running her fingers gently along the surface. The driver’s window was down. She stroked the cracked Naugahyde then smelled her fingertips.
English leather. It still smells like him.
Her heart beat faster. Her fingers hovered near her nose as she reached for the house door with her other hand. She opened the door without a sound. Goosebumps swept over her. The kitchen was dark, lit by a smartphone charger on the counter. She froze as she saw her reflection in blue light on the kitchen window, then sighed and relaxed.
Should have finished getting dressed.
She stepped into the hall and wiggled her bare feet in the carpet, enjoying the soft fibers after the grit on the sidewalk. The door to the bedroom was open. A glowing clock face on the nightstand painted his sleeping face in sickly green. She stepped beside the bed, relishing the sight of him, standing there a long glorious moment. His wife coughed and rolled onto her side, then sat up, facing away. Myra ducked down behind Bill’s hip, inhaling the scent of him.
Shining yellow light splashed over the room from Janet’s nightstand. Bill’s hand wobbled to her hip.
Myra frowned. Janet rose without answering and picked up her robe from a nearby chair, slipping it on as she left the room. Myra settled to her knees inhaling Bill’s breath as he slept on. The hallway brightened with light from another room. Myra slipped a finger into his thinning hair.
A loud snap echoed down the hallway followed by a chair shoved across a wooden floor. Heavy footsteps pounded to the bedroom. Myra flattened onto the carpet, then slipped under the bed as bare feet charged beside the bed.
“Damn you, Bill. You’ve been searching for that Myra on the internet again.”
“No, babe. Not anymore—”
“Bullshit. The search history lists her dozens of times. I warned you…”
A gunshot exploded. Bill dropped to the floor onto his back. Blood pulsed from his neck. He saw Myra.
Bill grabbed Myra’s hand. Janet’s feet straddled Bill. The gun exploded again.
Janet kneeled by the bed, lifting the border. Her hair slowly folded onto the carpet as her eyes met Myra’s.